She didn’t beat around the bush at all. Jonathan stopped worrying about the first part of what she’d said; the second demanded every bit of his attention. “Yes,” he said carefully. “I understand that.”

“Very well.” Kassquit started to say something, then stopped. When she spoke again, he would have bet it wasn’t what she’d first intended to say. It was, instead, an almost plaintive question: “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” he repeated, and used another emphatic cough.

“Good,” she said. “So am I. This is very strange for me. Being a Tosevite at all is strange for me. Being one in this way… it is something I have not done before, and had not imagined I would want to do before.”

“I understand-I hope I understand,” he said. He wondered if so much had ever ridden on a man and a woman’s lying down together. He had his doubts. “I will do my best to please you.”

“I thank you,” Kassquit replied gravely. “I will do the same for you.” Without missing a beat, she went on, “If we are to do this, should you not remove your wrappings?”

“I suppose so.” Jonathan knew he sounded sheepish. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so matter-of-fact. In one quick gesture, he pulled off his shorts and the jockeys he wore beneath them.

Kassquit studied him. She never seen a naked man before, he realized. He knew a certain amount of pride in rising to the occasion. She came up to him and asked, “May I touch you?” He nodded, then remembered to use the gesture she understood. She wrapped her palm around him. Then, to his astonishment, she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth.

“How… do you know to do that?” he spluttered.

“I watched videos,” she answered seriously. “I wanted to be prepared. Am I doing it correctly?” She sounded anxious.

“Yes,” he said with another emphatic cough, wondering where on Earth-or off it-she could have got stag movies. “Oh, yes.” But as she bent toward him again, he said, “Wait.” She looked up at him. Her face didn’t, couldn’t, show anything. Had it, he thought it would have shown puzzlement. He pointed toward the cot. “If you lie there, I will try to please you.”

She got to her feet. As she walked to the cot, she remarked, “I do not think anyone has ever tried to please me.” The resigned way she said it made tears come to Jonathan’s eyes. It also made him all the more resolved to do everything he could for her.

She didn’t get kissing. He found that out at once, when he knelt on the metal floor by the cot. But when his mouth went to her breasts instead of her lips, she let out a soft, surprised sigh. The one bit of advice he’d had from his father was, Don’t hurry. He tried to remember that now, when hurrying was what he most wanted to do. He stroked her all over before he let his hand slip between her legs. She was already wet. He moved his head down a little later. He’d done that only a couple of times with Karen, and didn’t know how good he was. Kassquit’s being shaved made things easier, or at least less distracting. And the unrestrained noises Kassquit made left him with no doubt he’d done well enough.

He went back to his bag and took out the box of Trojans. Kassquit reached under the cot and held out-an identical box. They both laughed, Kassquit first in the Race’s fashion and then noisily, like a human.

Jonathan put on a rubber. He’d practiced at home; he hadn’t wanted to make a botch of it. He was about to get down on the cot between Kassquit’s legs when a horrible wordless hissing broke out from a speaker overhead. Kassquit sprang up in alarm. Words, words in the language of the Race, followed: “Emergency stations! We are under attack. Emergency stations at once! We are under attack!”

Kassquit ran past the wild Big Ugly to the door. When she hit the button, it slid open. “Come with me.” she said to Jonathan Yeager. “You have no proper emergency station, so come to my compartment.”

“It shall be done.” He tossed the box of elastic sheaths into his satchel, which he picked up. Then he realized he was still wearing a sheath himself. He peeled it off and threw it on the floor. Kassquit disapproved of such untidiness. As he followed her out into the corridor, he asked, “Is it the Deutsche?”

“I do not know what else it could be,” Kassquit answered. “Hurry!” The emergency warning echoed through the ship.

Males and females of the Race rushed this way and that, heading for their own emergency stations. Some few would defend the starship, the rest merely huddle in it. If an explosive-metal bomb burst against its side, they would die where they huddled, probably faster than they could realize they were dead.

Seeing Big Uglies inside the starship made some males and females shout angrily. Kassquit shouted back. So did Jonathan Yeager, not always quite grammatically. Then he asked the very question she’d pondered a moment before: “What happens if we are hit?”

She gave him the only answer she’d come up with: “We die.” His face twisted. She knew little of the facial expressions wild Big Uglies used. From what she’d gathered, though, this one did not indicate pleasure.

Here was her home corridor. Here was her home doorway. She punched the keypad outside it. She had to try twice to get the combination right. When she did, the door opened. She went inside. Again, Jonathan Yeager followed. She closed the door behind them. Even through the metal, the clicks of toeclaws on metal and the cries of frightened males and females came clearly.

Kassquit was frightened, too. And so, no doubt, was Jonathan Yeager. She needed a little while to realize how frightened he must be. She, at least, was where she belonged, where she’d lived her whole life. He had to be as much adrift as she would have been had war broken out while she was on the surface of Tosev 3.

“What do we do now?” he asked. If there were any answers, he knew she had to be the one who had them.

He depends on me, she realized with a small shock. She’d never had anyone do that before. She’d always been the one who depended on Ttomalss. “Wait,” she told him: the obvious. “Hope the all-clear sounds.” Once past the obvious, she had to pause and think, but not for long. She wished she could form her face into the expression wild Big Uglies used to show amiability. “Also, we ought to go on with what we were doing before the alarm came.”

Jonathan Yeager threw back his head and barked Tosevite laughter. “We have a saying: eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.” The laughter stopped. “But it may not be tomorrow. It may be the next instant.”

“That is a truth,” Kassquit said. “Because it is a truth, should we not go on? Is there anything else you would rather do?”

“No,” he said, and added an emphatic cough.

“Nor I.” She lay down on her sleeping mat. It was less resilient than the cot brought up from Tosev 3-it fits the Race needs, not mine, she thought-but it would have to do. “Let us continue, then.”

She’d expected him to put on another sheath and continue from exactly the point where they were interrupted. Instead, to her surprise and delight, he knelt beside her and began stimulating her all over again.

She hadn’t realized she could be stimulated on the web of flesh between her thumb and forefinger or the crook of her elbow or her earlobes. She’d always hated her ears, which marred the smooth lines of her head, and wished she had hearing diaphragms instead, as the Race did. Here was a reason to change her mind she hadn’t expected.

His mouth on her breasts gave her more pleasure than her own fingers had. She wasn’t so sure that was true when his head went between her legs. She knew just what to do and when to do it there. He didn’t; he was finding out by experiment. When she’d stroked herself, though, she’d always known what would happen next. With Jonathan Yeager’s caresses, she didn’t. Sometimes the surprises were disappointing. Sometimes they were altogether delightful. She gasped and shuddered, taken to her peak of pleasure almost by surprise.